Planecrash at Hogwarts
by MalcomTalcum
Summary: An aeroplane vanishes from Muggle radars. Muggles fear the worst, but not if Albus Dumbledore can help it.


Mr. and Mrs. Dursley sat down in front of the television in their living room. Mr. Dursley picked up a long skinny black box with buttons on it. He pressed one of the buttons on it. The television flicked to life.  
'Change to BBC, Vernon,' Mrs. Dursley said, 'the news should be on.'  
'Good idea, Petunia, dear' Vernon Dursley said as he pressed a couple of buttons, and the TV went from a lady in the shower with shampoo in her hand, to before-and-after shots of someone's backyard, to a bald man's concerned looking face.  
'...big news. British Airways flight 816 from London to Glasgow has disappeared from radar earlier today,' the bald man was saying, 'British Airways has told media that they fear it has crashed. Walter Wall has more...'  
The television changed shots to another man's face. This one was holding a big microphone and had an average amount of hair.  
'Thanks Bob. British Airways have revealed that minutes before the plane disappeared the pilot said his equipment had stopped working and that he may have been flying low. British Airways have ruled out terrorism, saying there may have been something wrong with the aeroplane or pilot.'  
The scene on the television then changed to an important looking woman with lots of microphones and recording devices being shoved in her face with _Harriett Porter – British Airways_ written along the bottom of the screen.  
'We at British Airways are doing all we can to find where the aeroplane was at the time it went off the radar' she said.  
The television scene changed back to Walter Wall's face.  
'The aeroplane in question had just had its check up only four days prior to flight 816 to Glasgow. Experts say it was fine, Walter said 'Back to you, Bob.'  
'Thanks Walter. And we'll be keeping you informed on that case as it happens. Now to how one little boy changed his next door neighbour's life...'  
'Is that Marge's flight?' Petunia asked, cutting the announcer off.  
'What?' Vernon asked rudely, 'hang on.' He turned the television off in the middle of Bob telling them they should take up garden gnome golf.  
'I said "Was that Marge's flight?"' Petunia asked again loudly.  
'I don't think so,' Vernon said unconcernedly, 'she wasn't leaving until Thursday, was she?'  
'Today **_is_** Thursday, Vernon.'  
'Oh. Right. Well, we'd better ring her then.'  
Vernon got up off his big bottom and went over to the little table where the telephone was. He picked up the receiver and dialled Marge's number.  
'Two...three...four...' Vernon counted the rings, 'five...six. Oh, damn, she's not home.' He started to put the phone back down'  
'Leave a message then!' Petunia hissed.  
'Yeah, right.' Vernon fumbled with the phone before holding the receiver upside down and managing to say, "Hi Marge, its Vernon. Petunia and I are worried about whether it was your flight that crashed. Call us back if its not," before Marge's answering machine had a chance to finish telling to lave a message after the tone and that she was out.

Hermione Granger was determined not to be caught out by her friend, Harry Potter, again. He had been pointing towards the sky all week and saying things like "Look! A flying fish", "What's that thing?", and "Watch out!", but "Oh Merlin! An aeroplane!" was a new one.  
'Do you expect me to fall for that again?' she asked lazily.  
'No, really, look! I'm not lying this time.' Harry was still staring towards the sky.  
'Whatever...' Hermione rolled her eyes, 'honestly, Harry, I'm not _that_ gullible.'  
But, obviously, Ron Weasley, her other best friend, **was**. He looked up towards the sky and opened his mouth in shock.  
'You're a really bad actor, Ron,' Hermione shook her head, 'neither of you will get me this time.'  
Ron, however, kept looking towards the sky.  
'Do you reckon we should tell a teacher or something?' he said, 'I mean, it looks as though it's going to crash.'  
Hermione sighed and looked up, thinking they wouldn't give in until she did so.  
'What the...' she said, looking confused, 'I thought that Muggles couldn't get to Hogwarts. At least, that's what it said in _Hogwarts, A History_.'  
Harry and Ron just looked stunned.  
'Huh?' Ron blurted.  
'Electronic devices don't work in Hogwarts grounds,' Hermione explained quickly, as she moved quickly towards the castle, 'and aeroplanes run on electricity.'  
'Ooh! My dad would love this!' Ron squealed excitedly before running after her with Harry.

'What's going on? What happened to my screen?' the pilot was overwrought. He looked over to the co-pilot, who was trying to steer the aeroplane upwards, 'What happened?' he asked.  
'I don't know, but my screen conked out,' the co-pilot looked bewildered, 'and I think we're loosing altitude...'  
The pilot shook his head and pinched himself, muttering something about giant hamsters and blue whistles.  
'What are you doing?' the co-pilot asked him.  
'Pinching myself to see if I'm dreaming,' the pilot looked up, 'but I'm not.' He looked downcast.  
Just then, with a sudden lurch, the aeroplane stopped in mid-air and they were thrown forwards and knocked unconscious.

'I thought we'd gotten them to stop doing that,' Professor Dumbledore said breathlessly to Professor McGonagall as they raced down the staircase near the great hall, 'after that time I...'  
He broke off as they reached the front door. McGonagall threw open the door and pointed her wand to the sky,  
'On three,' she said, 'one, two ... three!'  
She and Dumbledore, who had also pointed his wand at the great white thing falling towards them, shouted an incantation and the aeroplane stopped moving all together.  
Dumbledore slowly lowered his wand and the aeroplane descended slowly too. When it was lying on the ground, he started running towards it again.  
'Out of the way, Potter,' McGonagall said hurriedly to Harry, Ron and Hermione as she passed them while running after Dumbledore.

'Has Marge rung?' Vernon said worriedly, as hung his coat up, after coming home from work early.  
'No.' Petunia said sullenly  
Vernon looked at his watch, then to the clock on the wall, 'same,' he said quietly, then more loudly, he said, 'the news should be on.'  
He and his wife walked into the lounge room and he picked up the remote and pointed it towards a black box in the corner. He pressed the big red button in the top corner of the remote and the television flicked on.  
'...evening,' the bald presenter was saying, 'tonight, we witness a new record being made for the greatest amount of breakfast cereal consumed in twenty seconds, Sheryl finds out more about the safety of dog beds to toddlers, and Howard visits London's most successful shoe shop.'  
'Good timing,' Petunia commented.  
Vernon grunted in agreement as the presenter started talking again.  
'But first up, we have a follow up on yesterday's story on little Timothy, who saved his next door neighbour's dog from...'  
'Do you think they'll have anything on even?' Vernon asked, anxious.  
'If they've found out where it crashed, yes,' Petunia answered.  
'...visit him in hospital today. Vets say he will recover soon, as long as he doesn't swallow any more fishing...' the presenter continued.  
'What about her dog friend...' Vernon said suddenly, 'General Whatsit. Ring him.'  
'...just in. You'll remember yesterday, when we said an aeroplane disappeared over Scotland. Someone anonymous calling themselves "Albus" has told British Airways the passengers are safe. British Airways have said they believe them, but will not say why.'  
'Colonel Fubster,' Petunia corrected him, 'he was on...'  
'Do you know his number?' Vernon interrupted.  
'...he'd know...' Petunia mumbled, 'Huh? Oh, yeah. It's on the telephone table, but I don't think...'  
'Go get it then!' Vernon ordered, not listening to her explanation.  
Petunia scrambled out of her seat and into the next room.  
'...just returned from Spain, and will be releasing a new song about how much...'  
Vernon pointed his remote at the television and it suddenly went black, as Petunia re-entered the room with a piece of paper in her bony hands.  
'Here it is,' she said, waving it in Vernon's direction.  
Vernon yanked it from her hands and walked into the room his wife had just left.  
Petunia looked cautiously at her husband before turning the television on and changing it to a fashion show.  
She had only been watching for a couple of seconds before Vernon came back into the room, saying, 'it rang out as well, he mustn't be home, maybe we could check la... what are you watching?'

'Can't I help? Please?' Harry Potter begged of his headmaster, 'Just one?'  
'No! Please go to your class!' Dumbledore practically yelled at him.  
'It's Saturday,' Harry persisted, 'so I don't have a lesson, and I could stay and help, if you'd like.'  
Dumbledore gritted his teeth, but kept walking, 'No. And that's my final answer,' he said eventually.  
'Aww,' Harry sighed, and dropped back to Ron and Hermione, 'he said no,' he told them.  
'Told you,' Hermione scorned, 'he can cope just fine on his own. He's not the world's best wizard for nothing.'  
Dumbledore, who could overhear their conversation, smiled to himself at Hermione's words.  
'You get paid just for being the best wizard in the world?' Ron said, enthused.  
Hermione groaned and rolled her eyes, 'No, Ron, it's a figure on speech.'  
'Heh, heh. I knew that,' Ron said slowly.

'Wha...' the pilot struggled to sit up after waking up from a stupor, 'Who are you?' he asked a lady wearing some kind of robe who was fussing over him.  
'Shhhhh,' she poked him with a stick of wood, and he fell back into lifelessness.  
Unexpectedly, a nearby door slammed open and a man with a long silver beard walked in irately.  
'Darn Potter,' he grumbled, 'Why doesn't he understand "no" means "no"?'  
'Because you spoil him,' the lady said, moving over to another of her patients, 'you let him off things to easily.'  
'Perhaps you are right, Poppy,' Dumbledore sighed, 'okay. Next time he asks me whether the chicken or the egg came first, I'll give him some lines, "I must not ask rhetorical questions."'  
Poppy Pomfrey shook her head, 'can you help?' she asked him.  
'That's why I'm here!' Dumbledore suddenly regained his usual cheerfulness.  
'Great. This lot here,' she gestured to all the patients around her, 'need to have their memory modified.'  
'Okey dokey,' Dumbledore bounced over to a patient, 'Let's get started!'

'Vernon!' Petunia Dursley hissed to her husband, 'the phone's ringing.'  
'And...?' Vernon looked blank, 'What's so good about th... Oh! Marge!'  
As he rushed past her, Petunia had to flatten herself against the wall to avoid being run into. When Vernon reached the phone, he had to grab the table to stop himself from running too far. He grabbed to phone like it was a hot potato and shoved it up next to his ear.  
'Hello?' he said quickly, 'is that you, Marge?'  
'Hi, this is Josh Baker from Regent Hall Gym,' the voice on the other end said, 'I'm just calling to tell you you've won a free trip to our gym. All you have to do is sign up for a year's membership. Would you like to take us up on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?'  
'Ooh, yes, please,' Vernon said distantly, then snapped back to reality, 'I mean, no, no I don't. I'm expecting a call from my sister – a very important one, too.'  
'Are you sure? This could be your big chance to make...' the voice persisted.  
'Yes,' Vernon said defiantly, then added in an undertone, 'but call me back later'  
He put the receiver down tenderly and turned to his wife, 'it was some stupid telemarketer,' he said, 'hinted that I was fat and told me to go to some crack-pot gym.'  
Petunia was about to give him a look of disgust, when the phone rang again. Vernon, glad to get away from the awkward silence, grabbed the phone before it had time to finish its first ring.  
'Vernon Dursley speaking,' he said cautiously, in case it was another telemarketer, 'who is it?'  
'Vernon! What is the meaning of these messages?' it was Marge's familiar voice.  
Vernon would have been pleased if she wasn't so angry, 'M – Marge?' he stuttered, 'I – I was just worried about you. I wasn't sure if you were on that aeroplane that crashed.'  
'I was – I think,' Marge said, sounding uncharacteristically confused, 'I can't remember.'


End file.
